The face on the screen appeared emotionless and detached. Drawn and aged, with a background of a darkened room behind him, creating an eerie contrast to his pale, chiseled features. Staring through a pair of intense gray-blue eyes, beneath a short cropping of gray hair, through the video feed at Robert Masten and Nora Lagner.
The truth was Masten didn’t know the man’s real name. But he was their contact. And his knowledge and experience were indisputable, way beyond just competence.
Nor did they know his location.
“I have studied the latest video footage,” he said in a slow, methodic tone. “Your patient is getting worse and showing signs of altered mental status.”
Masten and Lagner remained quiet.
“He is not experiencing ‘illusions’ represented by misinterpretation of sensory input. But rather hallucinations, which are not based on input at all. They are fabrications.”
“Fabrications from what?”
“Most often the misfiring of neural synapses.”
Facing their monitor, Masten and Lagner glanced at one another but did not react.
“The problem is not psychological. It’s biological,” the man explained. “Most likely damage from your botched resuscitation.”
“We don’t see any evidence of damage in the brain,” offered Lagner.
“Then look again.”
Another nervous glance before Masten said, “If it is, it may be repairable.”
“Unlikely. Neural plasticity provides for new and changing pathways in the brain. Not the repair of those already existing. Your doctors, Williams and Soliz, will no doubt focus on adaptation of the patient’s neural condition using antipsychotics. That is not what we are interested in.”
“It’s possible this is just a side effect of the resuscitation that will, in time—”
“It won’t correct itself,” the man said, cutting them off. “It is, in all likelihood, a permanent change to your patient’s brain function and puts him on the schizophrenia spectrum. This is of no use to us.” The face on the screen changed to another subject, addressing Lagner. “We’ve gone through your data, but we need more.”
She eased forward. “I gave you everything.”
The only movement in the man’s face was his mouth. “I said we need more.”
The call ended less than a minute later, leaving both staring at a blank monitor.
Things were not going as planned. Or even as hoped. They were losing control. Everything now riding on one thing: the mental health of their resuscitated patient.
Williams and Soliz were confident that if there was any neural damage, as long as it was limited in scope it could be dealt with. But their handler on the call made it extraordinarily clear. They were not interested in treatment. To them, there was a tremendous difference between a treatable brain and a healthy brain.